


Wall of Death

by Azereaux



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, metal concert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azereaux/pseuds/Azereaux
Summary: Petra has tickets to see her favourite band. Ferdinand, being a good friend, takes the extra ticket.And now, this man is talking to him over the blaring music he doesn't enjoy.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 7
Kudos: 97





	Wall of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a break from writing my chaptered fic!  
> I love metal music ~xXxmetal4lyfe666xXx~ lol -- anyway it just seemed fun as a concept. If you are wondering, the band names are entirely fictional, so you can't actually listen to them.  
> However, there are some real songs that fit FE3H. 'Vlad, Son of the Dragon' is some Rhea shit going on.
> 
> It also nearly 3AM and I wrote this in ONE NIGHT, so apologies for grammar, OOC-ness, etc.;;;
> 
> Also I just realized, happy Valentine's Day. Here are two idiots.

He sees Petra shift in her chair. She is inside a coffee shop talking to Ferdinand. They don’t get to see each other outside of work often like this anymore, but the time to spend on their relationship as friends instead of co-workers is precious. A small morning get-together over tea? They will take it.

When Ferdinand walked into the shop a little later than Petra, she waved him over and the conversation began pleasantly, naturally. Books, work woes, Petra gushing about the last camping trip she went on, and Ferdinand about his last trip to the museum’s special exhibit.

He wondered how the conversation went from that to _this_.

She fidgets her fingers against the paper cup nervously. Her nails make a clicking noise, a little rhythmic _tap tap tap_ from index down to pinky and up again. To Ferdinand, her fingers look like they’re making little waves. _Tap tap tap._ "I'm wanting to go see them live, they have never toured my home country."

Ferdinand wants to say _no_. He wonders if he heard Petra correctly – what the hell is he in for if he goes?

"You listen to a band called _Cadaver Dogs?_ "

"Yes," Petra replies. "I understand it is not the nicest of names, but they are a favourite. Alongside Coins for Charon."

"Have you asked anyone else?"

"I have. No one wants to go, even if they do not need payment. I won these tickets and I didn’t want the second to waste."

"I see…"

"Do not be bothered, Ferdinand! It is alright to refuse. Though I would like to go with a friend, there is no pressure for agreement. I will ask someone else." Petra smiles, and then she gazes out the window.

Ferdinand’s eyes follow her gaze.

The day is lovely for early spring – sweater weather, as they say. He’s happy to shed the dark, heavy winter coat for a brighter red cardigan. The flowers in the hanging planters outside of the window are beginning to bloom, and though the buds are still a fresh young green he can tell the colour of the flower from its tip. Pink. That one is purple. And that one there is orange.

He looks back to Petra. She’s staring outside the window still. There’s a wistful look in her brown eyes, and it makes Ferdinand feel a little… guilty, even though he knows she doesn’t hold anything against him.

It’s a beautiful early spring, but Petra looks like an autumn day.

"I’ll go."

She turns back to him and blinks. "You’ll go?”

“You do not want the extra ticket to go to waste, right?”

She smiles. “Thank you, Ferdinand, but as I said do not pressure yourself. I will find someone else.”

“But that is exactly why – you’ll have to keep asking around. I’m not sure you’ll have any luck.”

She begins tapping against her cup again. “Are you sure?”

He brings a hand to his chest. “It’s too late to say no. I will not go back on my word.”

Her eyes brighten. There it is, Ferdinand thinks.

“Thank you! Next week Friday. Doors open at 7 o’clock.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a paper. “I printed this out earlier to give to the person that says yes.”

Ferdinand looks at the ticket Petra slides across the table. CADAVER DOGS, it says in bold above the bar code. He can’t believe just one ticket would have been a whole sixty dollars if she didn’t get them for free. He puts it into his pants pocket. He hopes he doesn’t lose it, even if the other half of him wants to.

“We can go together after work,” Ferdinand says.

“Yes. I’m excited.”

“I wonder what I’m in for.”

“Even if it’s not your musical taste, I hope you have fun.” She’s beaming. “I will be.”

\-----

Ferdinand is not having fun.

Not that he’s bored – far from it – but he’s overwhelmed. The lineup outside the venue smelled... illicit, the food inside is expensive, and the crowd looks as if they are constantly sizing up Ferdinand and Petra. Ferdinand was never one for wearing all dark colours so his khaki pants and white, crisp collar shirt simply do not belong here. At least Petra passes somewhat in her black dress despite how business it looks, with her face tattoo – there were plenty of them here – and excitability. The curious looks don’t phase her. Ferdinand simply looks lost (he is). He’s never felt this self-conscious since his last year of high school.

He adjusts the musician earplugs in his ears that Petra had given him for the show. It will be loud, she warned him earlier, and it really is. He made the mistake of taking one out, just to test how loud it actually is, and he immediately regrets his curiosity. His head is still throbbing. The vibrations of the singer’s growls and the instruments are going through his chest, even from the back of the room. Petra said this is her favorite _singer_. He’s going to have to ask her what singing meant to her later.

"Who are you here to see?"

"I'm sorry?" Ferdinand says.

He looks around until his eyes stop on a dark-haired man with his arms crossed. He’s not looking at Ferdinand, instead he’s looking at the stage. There wasn’t anyone beside him earlier so it seems this man specifically chose this wall to lean against to speak to him, because that other wall was unoccupied. Lucky.

"The bands,” the man repeats as he bends down to bring his mouth near to Ferdinand’s ear, “which one are you here for?"

He probably had to lean down near Ferdinand’s ear for him to even hear the first question. He’s shocked he didn’t realize how close this man had to be to hear him speak. How did he not feel it?

Ferdinand shakes his head. "None of them.”

“I’m sorry?”

He shifts up to near the man’s ear. “None of them.”

"I see."

When they both fall silent, Ferdinand gets his first good look at the man. Sharp cheekbones, hair that partially covers one eye. He almost looks like he belongs here except he's wearing a simple black collar shirt, no spikes or chains or a patch covered vest. Even wearing all black in a sea of all black, he looks business-casual like him and Petra. Maybe he came here after work, too.

The man leans back down to Ferdinand’s ear. He says, “You don’t look like you belong here.”

"Well, neither do you."

"I do."

He unbuttons the top of his shirt and tugs at one side to show just enough of what’s underneath. Ferdinand can't read the text even though he can tell it’s a bunch of letters because instead it looks like long scratches, but he can make out the maw of a wolf under the text. Something with blood – flesh? is that a limb? – is dripping out from its mouth.

Ferdinand frowns. "Disgusting."

Instead of offense, he smiles.

"Why are you here?"

"My friend won tickets and this is her favourite band. She's down in the crowd."

He really doesn't understand what is happening. Petra said she wouldn’t leave Ferdinand’s side for the night, but he insisted she go and have fun. After all, one of her favorite bands is playing and only God knows the next time they’d come back to this city. The music is so loud, and Petra – heavens above – she's in the middle of all the action. Or on one side of it, really; the crowd parts down the middle at the behest of the band, and in a countdown from three the sides slam into each other.

He always knew she had something akin to a warrior's spirit, but seeing Petra living it is something else.

"You should join her."

" _Never,_ " Ferdinand replies. "Why don't you?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not into dancing. I'm just here for the music."

"Dancing?" Ferdinand repeats, incredulous. "That is barely dancing. That's called fighting."

"You should try it. Or maybe, do what those in the front are doing.” He points. “Your hair is long enough.”

“And break my neck? No thank you.”

The man smirks. “You really don’t belong here, do you?”

“I never pretended to.”

The man nods slowly. He leans back down and says, “Hubert.”

“What?”

“My name is Hubert. What’s your name?”

Even if he doesn’t feel particularly inclined to answer he doesn’t want to be rude, especially since Hubert gave his own name first. “Ferdinand.”

“Well Ferdinand,” Hubert says, “what do you think of the show so far?”

He frowns. Ferdinand doesn’t want to say he feels nothing, because he feels a lot. The music is still surging through his chest, the man in front of him smells so heavily of cigarettes he thinks it’ll get stuck in his own hair, it’s _so so_ crowded that he’s backed into the wall for both comfort and overcrowding – he wonders if the organizers knew there was going to be this many people in attendance, and why didn’t they book a bigger venue? Music should have a melody and be soothing on the ears but here the singing is just screaming, and Ferdinand can’t understand how the crowd goes wild – _actually_ wild, oh look they’re pushing into each other again. He hopes Petra is safe. Also, how can they hear what is that One Specific Popular Song when it all just sounds like a big mess? There’s no point in hiding his opinion.

“I don’t like it at all,” Ferdinand replies. “It sounds like a construction zone in the morning.”

Ferdinand loves Petra dearly, but tonight is making him question that. He doesn’t think he loves her enough to say yes a second time to attend to a metal concert.

“A shame,” Hubert says, “but you are tenacious for staying through it all.”

He doesn’t realize what Hubert means until the lights turn on in the venue and the crowd below slowly disperses. On stage, the crew is slowly removing the band’s gear. He can’t believe it, he really did stay for the whole show. He takes out the earplugs and puts them into his pocket.

He turns back to Hubert. With the lights on, he can notice a few more features. Hubert’s eyes are pale green. His dark hair actually accentuates his sharp features well. His gaze on Ferdinand makes him feel self-conscious, and he turns away in time to see Petra bouncing back from the crowd. Her long hair has come out of its ponytail somewhat in a mess, but she looks happy.

“Ferdinand.” She grabs onto both his hands. “Thank you for the company.”

“It wasn’t a problem at all,” he responds. His eyes quickly shift to glance at Hubert. His eyebrow is raised in amusement.

Petra notices their shared look. “Do you know each other?”

“We just met,” Hubert replies. “He told me you won tickets for tonight.”

“Yes,” she says, “and I’m thankful for him. Did you know he wasn’t wanting to attend?”

“Very much so.”

Ferdinand clears his throat. He wants to change the conversation topic. “With the money you saved, you can buy a shirt without any guilt.”

“I can.” Petra nods. “Thank you for reminding. Excuse me, I am going into the line.”

She disappears to the back of the merchandise line, far enough to leave Ferdinand and Hubert alone together again.

“I guess I should leave now,” Hubert says. He pushes himself off the wall. "I'll see you again at the next show."

"Doubtful," Ferdinand says. "Don’t you remember? I'm only here because Petra won a pair of tickets."

“Indeed.” Hubert hums to himself. “If that's the case, we can meet somewhere else."

Ferdinand is confused. “How? It’s not like we can contact – _oh_. Hubert, are you asking…?"

"I am."

"But we just met."

"Take a chance, Ferdinand. Like how you came here tonight."

His green eyes are just so piercing – Ferdinand wants to look away. Instead he asks, “Am I not... a little not to your tastes?” He motions to his clothes. His dark brown shoes, his white collar shirt, the khaki pants. His long orange hair he did _not_ head bang with in the front of the crowd to the music he did _not_ like.

“I am rather fond of how different you are,” Hubert replies, “it’s an interesting contrast.”

Ferdinand blushes.

“That is by far the oddest compliment I have ever received. Please, next time don’t say it. Just message me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he replies. He looks at where Petra is in the merchandise line, it’s moving faster after the show than it was before it. She’s quite close to the front now, so Ferdinand has to make a quick decision. “I am taking a chance.”

He inputs Ferdinand’s number into his phone.

“Well then Ferdinand,” Hubert says, “where would you like to meet?”

“You’re asking me now?”

“The first impression is the most important, and it’s better to ask in person isn’t it?”

“Hubert, we are far past your first impression,” Ferdinand says. “Anyway, there is a little shop I frequent that’s located by the old church downtown. Their tea is the best in the city.”

Hubert wrinkles his nose. “I’ll be having coffee.”

“Bitter,” Ferdinand replies.

“Well show me this best tea in the city and change my mind.”

“You will love it,” Ferdinand responds with confidence. He then looks down to Hubert’s chest, at the bloody wolf. “Just please, don’t wear that shirt.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for giving this a shot!


End file.
